Nocturnal Panic
by CelestialSonata7
Summary: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder has many symptoms. Some are subtle, manageable, easily kept secret. Some of the most popular symptoms are nightmares and panic attacks. Stark Tower would know the best about it, after all. Starring the original occupants of Stark Tower and Steve Rogers. No Slash.
1. For an AI

**Author's note: So as you may have noticed, I risked a dip in the 'Avengers' pool. I know I'm waaaay outta my league here; a small fish in a big pond so to speak, but I just couldn't help my feels. 'The Avengers' was such a kick-ass movie that I couldn't help obsessing over it. And Chris Evans. . .there are no words. He's amazing in everything he does and I am in love with him. (That's a dramatic exaggeration but you get it.) So thus, the Steve feels.**

**This was kind of just to help me fight my writer's block, so it isn't that great. In fact it could be considered quite boring and not really worth the read. But I'll let you be the judge of that.**

**I've noticed a lot of people say that the Avengers moved into Stark Tower a little while after the events of the Chitauri invasion so I'm going with that here. Sorry, I haven't read the comic books; all my knowledge is based on the movies. -_-'**

**So, here's a three-shot about the boring, typical, 'panic attack' storyline, starring Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and the original residents of Stark Tower. ****Lots o' fluff ahead; be warned.**

**Could also be known as, 'the two times Stark Tower comforted Steve, and the one time Steve comforted Stark Tower', kind of.**

**No slash, just friendship.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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Nocturnal Panic

Chapter 1: For an _A.I_.

Breathing was getting difficult fast. The silent darkness was suffocating. Tremors racked tense bones, and tightly sealed eyes hid unshed tears. Huddled against the bed, with knees drawn up to the chest and shaky hands strangling blond tufts of hair, Steve Rogers was having a panic attack.

Through all the panic and fear, Steve mentally berated himself. This was no way for a soldier to act; curled on the floor against the bed, shaking in fear of a non-existent threat like a child. He was a highly trained super-soldier who had fought in dozens of cold and dirty wars and seen more than one man could in one lifetime. He wasn't some little child frightened by the boogeyman or the dark or bad dreams that snuck up on you in the dead of night and stole your breath away with your fears and traumas and memories you didn't want to remember.

Okay, maybe that last one. In fact, that's exactly what happened.

Steve's fingers curled tighter into his tangled hair, his knuckles turning white. He could still hear the rushing wind, could still feel the frigid cold biting at his skin, could still see the ground rapidly approaching. His chest tightened, burning for proper oxygen while every muscle in his body ached as they wound tighter and shook harder. Steve squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to block out the images that had played through his mind since he fell asleep three hours ago. He was falling, crashing, and there was no way to stop it. He wasn't _supposed_ to stop it; he was just supposed to let it happen to him without a single flinch or doubt.

Not that Steve would ever change his decision, if he were given the chance to go back. He'd do it again and again. But still; crashing that plane into the ice wasn't easy. It wasn't easy to make the decision to crash the plane in the first place. It wasn't easy to take the controls and steer them towards the surface while every instinct and common sense screamed at him to pull up. It wasn't easy to tell Peggy what he had to do, knowing he'd never get to see her again. It wasn't easy to feign a normal conversation about dancing when they both knew he wasn't coming back. It wasn't easy to hear the tears in Peggy's voice before the radio cut out. It wasn't easy to accept death.

Three hours. That was how long Steve had been on the floor shaking like a leaf in the dark room of Stark Tower. Three hours he'd been trying to calm his nerves and stop the panic from swallowing him whole like the water and ice had so long ago. Three hours he sat at the mercy of the memories that wouldn't leave him in peace; that constantly reminded him of a different time.

A small grunt of effort escaped Steve's throat as he tried to maintain a grip on reality. He wasn't in that plane; he wasn't _falling_ hundreds of feet to plunge into the unforgiving _cold_. But if he wasn't there, then why could he feel the ice crawling up his skin? Why did he feel like he was falling, when he was sitting in his room? Why was the wind rushing passed his ears, when not a single window was open? Why was the water filling his lungs, when his throat was dry as a desert?

Steve was just grateful that it was the middle of the night, and no one else was awake to see his moment of weakness. He'd been rendered a small, weak, scared little boy all because of a dream. The great super-soldier Captain America was just a normal trembling man sitting in his room in the dark.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Steve jumped at the sudden voice, wild eyes searching the shadowed room for the source. It took his panic-riddled mind a minute before he registered the voice's owner, and he looked to the ceiling as if that was where he resided. "I'm f-fine." He muttered through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering. His voice was strained and shaky, and he groaned in frustration at the clear display of vulnerability.

"Are you certain, Captain?"

Steve nearly rolled his eyes. For a computer program, Jarvis certainly was persistent and annoying and almost. . .concerned. Steve tried to answer, but the shaking in his bones hindered proper speech at the moment. Not that he knew what to say anyways. Steve _wasn't_ okay, and he wasn't much one to lie about it either.

"Perhaps you might appreciate something to soothe you; do you like music, Mr. Rogers?"

The room was suddenly filled with soft, gentle, orchestrated music. Symphonies and suites and smoothly flowing notes that weren't of any certain era; just classical songs that could be enjoyed by anyone. Steve found himself slowly tuning in to the notes as they filtered through the room from an unknown location. It surrounded him in an odd calm.

"Just focus on the music, sir. Perhaps it will help calm you down. I suggest taking deep and slow breaths."

For a computer seemingly programmed with only one tone, Jarvis' words sounded hushed and comforting; Steve couldn't help the security he felt from it, and followed the A.I.'s advice.

Steve closed his eyes, dropped his hands beside him, and took a deep, halting breath, holding it in his lungs. The shaking hadn't quite left, but it did seem to lessen. He could feel his heart beat pounding against his chest, but he decided to focus on the music instead. Slowly, he blew out the breath, allowing everything to sink and relax. His muscles loosened, his heart slowed a beat, the shaking eased up slightly. Steve continued the slow breathing, focusing on every in-take, every out-take, and the music around him. Gradually with time, his body became more relaxed, the panic leaving his mind.

A half an hour passed with Steve just breathing slowly while soft music played in the background. Finally, Steve seemed relaxed enough to realize how exhausted he was. The panic wore off, leaving lethargic and weak limbs. His eyes couldn't stay open, and his head was drooping to his chest.

"Better, Mr. Rogers?"

Steve allowed a weak and tired chuckle. "Yeah. Thanks, Jarvis." He said softly, his voice barely carrying passed his bed.

"Of course, sir. Anytime."

Steve smiled lightly as he slowly—and with greater effort than he thought he'd need—hauled himself off of the floor and into his bed, draping the covers over his shoulders and curling loosely into the soft material. Even for an artificial intelligence program, Steve could hear the caring and concern in Jarvis' voice. He took comfort in that as the music died down, and he finally drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep.

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**Author's note: I kind of love Jarvis more than any girl should love an A.I., so I just had to use him. Hope others will find it believable. Next chapter coming tomorrow.**


	2. Unlikely Assistance

**Author's note: Now, in no way do I mean this to be romantic in any sense at all. This is strictly a friend-comforting-friend deal. But, if you'd like to see it that way, be my guest.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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Nocturnal Panic

Chapter 2: Unlikely Assistance

The silence of the Stark Tower was briefly broken by the long and heavy sigh that Pepper emitted as she walked down the dark halls. It'd been a long day of running around for Tony and the rest of the team while they again saved the city from another threat. Pepper couldn't be more proud of them, or more happy to help; it just got exhausting quickly is all. She was only one woman after all, trying to work for a group of _superheroes_. Jarvis helped out when he could and that took a world off her shoulders which she was grateful for, but even still. Pepper was just glad the day was coming to an end so she could curl up in her bed and sleep for hours.

The team had stayed up late that afternoon, celebrating a mission well accomplished. They all sat around the TV in the living room and watched and laughed and ate. It was nice to see everyone so loose and carefree; Pepper would be lying if she said she didn't wish for more days like that. It was the mess left afterwards that she didn't much care for. And when you have a god, a scientist, two assassins, a super-soldier, and _Tony_ to clean after, well, to put it lightly, it is definitely not pretty.

'_Just one more job._' Pepper thought to herself. Just clean the den and go to bed. Normally she'd have gotten a head-start on it, even before everyone was done leaving for their rooms around the Tower, but she'd been held back at a meeting at Stark Industries and didn't get back until late that night. Running a company for a superhero _and_ being his personal assistant, wasn't easy, after all.

Just around the corner, quiet as a mouse so as not to wake anyone, Pepper tip-toed through the dark building, straining her eyes through the living room. The room was so dark, the only source of light being the moon that streamed around the window blinds; in the poor lighting Pepper nearly thought the room to be spotless. "Jarvis,". Pepper whispered. "Lights please. Dim." The lights turned on dim enough for her to see but not too bright that they blinded her, and she took a proper look around, only to stare in disbelief.

The room actually _was_ spotless. Not a plate or napkin or crumb in sight. Pepper questioned if the team had actually stayed up late at all that evening; maybe she was remembering a different night they had, and had gotten the nights confused. It would make sense with how exhausted and burned out her brain was, to make that mistake. Perhaps she _really_ needed to sleep now. A small, incredulous shake of the head, and Pepper turned to leave. That is, until a small grunt made her stop.

Pepper turned around slowly, scanning the room carefully for anything suspicious. She knew she heard something; maybe Tony had fallen asleep in the den again. Pepper looked, though there didn't seem to be anyone laying sprawled out on the floor like the last time Tony had crashed in the living room. Maybe he made it to the couch this time. Pepper slowly and quietly approached the back of the couch and peeked over.

There, laying along the couch with a cushion under his head and hands folded on his chest, was not Tony, but Steve Rogers. At first Pepper was surprised, but then it made sense; Steve was always the one to help her clean up after everyone on nights like these. This time it seemed he did her job for her and just accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

Pepper smiled down gently at the sleeping soldier; he was always so sweet and polite. Sometimes she wished Tony held such values; but then he wouldn't be Tony if he did. A small smirk tugged at Pepper's lips at the thought. She turned and quietly walked to a cabinet, retrieving a blanket. That's when she heard another small grunt from Steve. She frowned at the sound; it was quiet, but strangled, strained; as if Steve was in distress in some way.

Finally returning to the back of the couch, Pepper peeked over again to find Steve in a thin sheen of sweat and a hard grimace on his face. His breathing had accelerated significantly and his head tossed about fervently. Worry crept into Pepper's chest and she hurried around the couch to kneel near Steve's head, blanket forgotten on the floor beside her.

"Steve?" Pepper whispered in concern. She gently took his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

Steve's breath hitched, and his head tossed just a little more violently. "No." He groaned. "Don't."

Steve was having a nightmare, Pepper knew that much. She'd seen enough nightmares in her day; dealing with a stubborn billionaire with clear PTSD did that to you. What could have the super-soldier Captain America so frightened, was lost to her though. But she knew better than that; Steve wasn't some fearless, robotic figure like everyone thought he was. He was a human being that had been through more trauma than any one man could handle; enough for two lifetimes. He had a right to be a little messed up in the head, and _scared_ once in a while.

Pepper brought both hands to shake Steve's shoulder and spoke a little louder. "Steve, wake up."

Steve's breathing was reaching hyperventilation speed and it was worrying Pepper greatly. "Hold on." Steve mumbled. "Don't. . .don't you let go. I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Come on Steve." Pepper shook harder. "It's time to wake up now. Steve, wake up." She said forcefully.

"I'm coming." Steve repeated breathlessly. "Hold on, I'm coming."

"Steve!" Pepper was getting anxious now. "Come now, wake up! Steve!"

Finally Steve shot straight up with a panicked gasp. "Bucky!"

"Steve?" Pepper asked hurriedly, her hands now on his arm for comfort; an anchor in hopes to pull him out of his dream. "Steve, it's me. It's Pepper. Are you alright?"

Steve looked about frantically while he panted and gasped, the nightmare still fresh on his mind. The words didn't register until his eyes finally found Pepper kneeled in front of the couch with her hand on his arm. He frowned at her in disbelief, still working through the remnants of his dream and reality. Finally his face relaxed in recognition and he began to calm down, his erratic breathing slowing to a normal pace.

"Are you alright?" Pepper repeated, this time softer and more gentle; as a mother would to her frightened child.

Steve sat trying to steady his breathing, eyes now downcast and full of shame. He nodded quickly. "I-I. . ." He stuttered, and closed his eyes in slight frustration. He swallowed thickly and regained his composure, then opened his eyes to Pepper. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to fall asleep out here. I-"

Pepper rolled her eyes with a small smirk; same old chivalrous Steve Rogers. She patted his arm to cut him off. "It's fine, Steve." She said with a smile. "You don't need to apologize."

Steve looked to her but didn't return her smile, nor did he respond as he dropped his gaze.

Pepper's face fell sympathetic for the man. She stood and Steve immediately moved his legs over the side of the couch, allowing her to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it?" Pepper asked gently as she sat next to him.

Steve looked up at her briefly, and Pepper saw the deep-rooted sorrow in those haunted blue eyes, for once completely unmasked. He dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap and swallowed awkwardly. "I appreciate that, Miss Potts-"

"How many times have I told you,". Pepper cut him off gently, a playful grin on her face. "It's Pepper."

Steve finally offered a small smile back but Pepper could see the strain behind it. "But really, I'll be fine." He finished.

Pepper's face fell in disappointment. Just like Tony; they could face alien armies and life-or-death situations head on without hesitation, but come time to talk about their feelings and they high-tail it out of there as fast as they could. Pepper understood that boys needed their pride, but they also needed their sanity, and letting such stress eat them alive was just as hazardous as an army shaking the foundations of the city.

With a small sigh, Pepper changed the subject for the moment. "Thanks, by the way, for cleaning the living room. You're always so helpful. I wish the others had your virtues." She smiled sweetly at him.

Steve smirked the faintest as a flush of red tinted his cheeks, and he shrugged modestly. "Anything I can do to help." He mumbled. He subtly weaved his hands together in his lap, trying to stop them from shaking so much. Pepper noticed the action anyways, and laid her own hand on them. Steve looked back up at her to see one of the most gentle, caring and concerned expressions he'd seen since. . .well, since another time.

"What did you dream of?" Pepper asked. It wasn't a demand, she wasn't forcing him to tell her. It was just a curious question from a friend.

A friend.

Steve stared at Pepper for a moment longer, merely observing the care in her eyes. So much like. . . .he sighed heavily and dropped his gaze. "My other life, I guess." He said softly. "The war, the people." He shook his head gently, then shrugged.

Pepper squeezed his hand, trying to offer comfort even though she really didn't know how to approach the situation. Steve had been pulled out of a hard and terrible life, but at least it was what he knew. He knew how that world operated and worked. He had people and friends that he knew and cared about. Here, in this new century, Steve didn't even know how to live anymore. Pepper couldn't imagine what that must be like. She stroked Steve's hand gently with her thumb, hoping it would soothe the shaking in his hands a bit. "What were they like?" She asked gently. "The people you knew, the soldiers you fought with."

A ghost of a smile graced Steve's face, the reminder of his old team seeming to bring a small enough calm to ease his shaking hands and tense posture slightly. "The best." He answered proudly. "They never hesitated, they always looked out for each other, and still kept each other sane. Even in the middle of war, there were times we'd have long nights of just sitting and waiting for orders or opportunities to strike; those were the best nights of the war. We'd all just sit in our camps and talk and laugh; some would talk about their families back home, others would describe what they'd do once the war was over. They always had their spirits up, always optimistic that the war would end soon and they'd be back with the people they loved."

Pepper smiled at the sentiment, and at the small light in Steve's eyes that briefly chased away the darkness hidden in them.

"They were brave." Steve went on. "They were resourceful and determined. They were selfless and loyal. Those were the heroes of my time; not, _Captain America_." He said with a hint of distaste. "Those normal, everyday human beings were the real heroes out there. They were my heroes."

"They sound wonderful." Pepper said sweetly. "And I'm sure they all thought the same about you."

Steve smiled at her briefly, then waved his hand idly. "We weren't thinking about _heroics_ out on the field. Sure we always had the alertness to watch each other's backs in the back of our minds, but mostly we just spent time bonding with each other, getting to know the people we were laying our lives on the line for. We became best friends, brothers; a real family out there."

Pepper squeezed his hand again as he trailed off. The room fell silent for a moment longer, until curiosity won out and Pepper dared the question. "Who's Bucky?" She asked as softly as she could.

Just as Pepper feared, Steve went stiff, his expression hardened the slightest, and his hands shook a bit more as he squeezed them together. Pepper kept her hand on his, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb to try to keep him grounded.

"H-how did-" Steve started shakily.

"You were talking in your sleep." Pepper explained gently, solemnly.

Steve nodded in acknowledgment, staring at his hands and trying to stop the shaking.

"Steve,". Pepper said just above a whisper. "It's okay." She leaned a bit closer to him, holding his gaze with as much care and gentleness she could muster while squeezing his hand.

Steve eyed her for a moment, an inward struggle playing through his mind. The memories, that dream. . .he'd never talked about stuff like that before to anyone, and he wasn't sure if he could now. But he knew Pepper was a kind lady; perhaps one worth trusting.

Steve let out a heavy sigh, feeling Pepper's thumb speed up slightly in its circles and smiled lightly at the effort. "Bucky. . ." He sighed, a sad chuckle tailing the end. "He was my brother before I even joined the army. He was always looking out for me. I got into a lot of trouble back then, but he was always there to bail me out. He was my best friend, and a real good soldier."

Now Pepper understood. Steve's best friend; that's who he was dreaming about, and that's why he was so distraught.

"What happened. . .to Bucky?" Pepper asked softly. She knew she was treading dangerous territory, but obviously this was eating Steve alive, and he needed to get this stuff out in the open if he was ever going to start to heal.

Another heavy sigh, Steve kept his eyes trained on the floor. "We. . .it was a mission. . .to stop Hydra, and Schmidt. There was a train. . ." He closed his eyes as the memories flooded his mind and threatened to swallow him up.

Pepper brought her other hand and surrounded his in hers, rubbing them gently to offer comfort and security. "It's okay." She whispered.

Steve nodded, regaining his composure. "We were hijacking this train; it held Schmidt's assistant. We were going to take him in for questioning; find out where Schmidt was. Bucky and I went first, through a storage car I think, I can't really remember. There was this man. . .the weapon he was using. . .it wasn't normal; wasn't human."

"The Tesseract?" Pepper asked. She'd read the files; she knew about Johann Schmidt and the Nazis and Hydra. She knew as much as Tony did about all the Avengers, as it was kind of in her job description.

Steve nodded with a bitter twist in his features. "Schmidt did something; something not human. He created those weapons and was going to use them on the rest of the world. They wouldn't have known what hit them."

Pepper nodded in understanding. She knew Steve was bitter towards the man who had put millions of lives in danger. She rubbed Steve's hands again. "What happened on the train?" She gently steered the topic back.

Steve sighed. "Bucky and I boarded the train. We ran into some men and got separated. I finally found Bucky pinned down by a couple of men and we took them down together. . .but we let our guard down."

"The man with the super-weapon." Pepper clarified.

Steve nodded. "He knocked me down. I lost the shield, and. . .it was all disorienting. I wasn't really sure what was happening. Bucky had my shield then, he was shooting at the man, but the man wouldn't fall. He shot that weapon and. . .Bucky was knocked out of the train, just barely hanging on by a broken metal rod. That's when I got up and took the guy out. I ran to Bucky, and I tried to climb out to him. . .I reached for him, but. . ."

Pepper felt her heart sink with realization. "He fell." She finished softly, horror and shock clear in her voice and on her face. She may have read Steve's file, knew nearly everything that happened back in the '40's, but that was all from the views of a documenter. Steve was telling her exactly had happened through _his_ eyes, complete with the grief and heartache.

Steve closed his eyes again, dropping his head into his hands. "I tried to reach him." He said softly, his voice shaky and pitchy and muffled. "He was right there; if I had just gotten to him faster-"

"No no no, shhh." Pepper quickly wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently and rubbing his arm. "It's not your fault, Steve. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"If I had been stronger. . ." Steve raised his head to stare distantly ahead of him, revealing red-rimmed and watery eyes. He rested his clasped hands against his lips, staring out in front of him. "If I hadn't gone down, Bucky wouldn't have needed to go in. He wouldn't have been shot at. If I had just done my job-"

No, Steve." Pepper said sternly. "It wasn't your fault. Bucky did what he did of his own will; he chose to stand up and defend his fallen comrade."

"He shouldn't have had to." Steve mumbled bitterly.

"Now you listen here, Steve Rogers." Pepper demanded, turning his shoulders to face her with a determination. "Bucky was a good friend, and a good soldier, just like you said. He put his life on the line for the world and for you; just like you always do. You save people on a daily basis, without complaint. Now, I have no doubt in my mind that Bucky is incredibly _proud_ of you, for everything you do. If he's as good a friend as you say he is, then I'm sure he doesn't blame you for what happened to him."

Steve sniffled, dropping his gaze, though Pepper kept a firm yet gentle grip on his shoulders. She just reminded him so much of. . . .

Pepper's face softened and she tilted her head to meet Steve's eyes. "You can't change the past." She said softly and gently. "But you can always remember it, and learn from it, and commemorate it. Honor the people who fell by living for them; honor Bucky by remembering what he did, and being the best you can be at protecting what he was protecting."

Steve sniffled, then finally looked up to meet Pepper's gaze with teary and sorrowful eyes. But he allowed the smallest of smiles that was more genuine than anything Pepper had seen from the man since she'd met him. It allowed a small flutter of hope in her chest. "Thank you, Miss-" Steve croaked out.

"Ah!" Pepper reprimanded playfully.

Steve chuckled lightly, the sound music to Pepper's ears. "Pepper." He corrected. "Really." He added gratefully.

Pepper smiled, rubbing his shoulders again. "Of course. Now off to bed mister." She teased as she patted his arm.

Steve chuckled again as they stood, and he allowed Pepper to guide him towards the hall. They stood to part ways, and Steve bowed his head slightly. "Ma'am." He offered as farewell.

Pepper smiled at his courtesy, then she stepped forward, offering her arms out. "May I?" Without waiting for a reply, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gently squeezed him. She could feel his body stiffen at first, but he finally relaxed and returned the embrace, resting his hands on her back. She could feel the tension in his body slowly start to dissipate. Pepper rested her hand on the back of Steve's head, stroking it softly. "Sweet dreams." She whispered. They pulled away and she smiled up at him.

Steve smiled back down at her. "Thank you." He whispered again, deep sincerity in the words.

Pepper rubbed his arm comfortingly before she finally turned and headed to her bedroom.

"Pepper." Steve called back, and waited for her to turn to face him again, a small confusion and joy in her eyes at him finally calling her by her first name, without prompting. He smiled as she met his gaze. "We're lucky to have you." He said softly.

And right there; those were the moments that made Pepper's job all worth it. They may all be big and messy superheroes, but they still appreciated Pepper and all she did, and she was grateful for every one of them. A red flushed her cheeks and a goofy smile tugged at her lips as they both turned and headed for bed.

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**Author's note: Again, no romance intended, but if you want to, you can read it that way. Last chapter's up tomorrow.**


	3. Musings of the Wounded

**Author's note: And final chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Again, no romance intended, at all. But read it how you will.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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Nocturnal Panic

Chapter 3: Musings of the Wounded

It was late. _Really_ late. He knew he should be in bed. Lord knows Pepper would have his head if she knew he wasn't yet. But she was out of town anyways; she wouldn't know.

Just one more calibration modification; one more test drive; one more drink. Tony wasn't one to 'sleep' anyways. He was a creature of the night, a night owl, insomniac extraordinaire. Sleep was for children, and average-intelligence people who didn't mind wasting half of their lives unconscious. Not Tony; he used the quiet of the night to his advantage. In the dead of night, when all was silent and soulless, Tony's mind went into overdrive; no outside noise to fill his thoughts and distract him. Tony's advanced brain ran at lightening speed, throwing around as many new ideas and modifications and inventions as it could.

Tony stared at the contraption in front of him with burning eyes and heavy concentration, his work station only lit by a desk lamp in the otherwise blacked-out building. A set of pliers held in shaky hands, he slowly reached the bolt on the device in front of him, tightening it ever so slightly. With his other hand he blindly reached for his drink to his left. He fumbled around a little before his fingers finally clasped the glass, and pulled it towards him, only to frown at the empty bottom. Well that just wouldn't do.

Finally pulling himself from the device, Tony turned around to stare at the dark expanse of his lab. Little white dots flashed around his stinging eyes from the drastic change of lighting, and he had to shake his head in an attempt to clear them. Still they persisted and started to make him dizzy. Either that or the prolonged fatigue was finally letting itself known. Tony's knees suddenly became weak, and he had to grab the edge of the table just to keep himself upright.

"Whoa." Tony mumbled to himself, in shock. "Where did that come from?" Shaking his head, he carefully pushed himself away from the table, and heavily made his way across the lab. The bar was in sight; if he could just get one more drink, he could finish this piece of junk already. His legs were wobbly, his steps lagged, his vision started blurring, then leaning. Tony fell to his knees in an exhausted heap. He could barely lift his head anymore, everything was so heavy with fatigue. Perhaps four days of no sleep wasn't as good an idea as Tony first thought it was.

Alright, can't stay on the floor forever. Tony leaned heavily on his arms, trying to push himself up to stand. His limbs were jelly and wobbled unsteadily with the more weight he added to them. His body leaned to the side, forcing him to the ground once more, laying curled on the floor on his side.

'_Well, it's not so bad down here._' Tony thought in exhausted defeat. His heavy eyes finally drooped closed and his breathing evened out. His body relaxed into the cement ground, and his mind fell into slumber.

—

Images flashed passed Tony's closed eyes; flashes of a different time, a different place. An uneasiness gripped his heart that he couldn't explain. The faster the images went, the more anxious Tony grew, as if his body was anticipating a threat his mind had no knowledge of yet. Then the images started to clear, sharpen, display. They were familiar.

A cave. A cold metal table. A car battery. Weapons strewn about haphazardly. Dim lights, little cameras in the corners. Surrounding cold, fog, fear.

Yinsen.

"No." Tony demanded. He wasn't going to let his mind do this to him. Not again. Every night since he escaped that hell his mind tortured him, every night he tried to fight it, every night he failed. His last attempts at fighting it by avoiding sleep altogether obviously didn't work out. There was no escape, not really.

Yinsen was talking to Tony, his mouth was moving but no sound came out. Tony was suddenly laying on that metal table again. The dim lights were blinding from his angle and he squeezed his eyes shut, shielding them with an arm. Suddenly his arm was yanked away and forced to the table beside him, then his other arm. His feet were grabbed and pressed roughly into the table as well, completely immobilizing him. He was trapped, and surrounded by faceless men, and Yinsen, who seemed to be screaming voicelessly at the men. He did nothing however, to stop them; merely stood back out of the way, continuing his silent pleas.

Another man came into Tony's sights then, the same one that had apparently called all the shots in that camp. Raza leaned over Tony and cocked his head to the side curiously. His mouth moved then, asking Tony a question. But like Yinsen, he had no voice, Tony could only stare silently in confusion. This seemed to have angered Raza; he slammed his hand on the table beside Tony's head, startling him and everyone in the room. Raza was screaming, seemingly repeating what he'd said earlier; still Tony stared, a fear creeping into his eyes as the panic of not having an answer for the man grew.

Raza sighed; Tony didn't hear it but he could feel the agitated breath hit his cheek. Raza stood straight, staring down at Tony blankly. Then, he smiled.

With a wave of Raza's hand, the men surrounding Tony all moved in a flurry of coordinated action. One man came up beside the table and forced a sack over Tony's head, shielding everything in darkness. And then, his whole body exploded in pain. Tony's back arched as he screamed; he tried to pull his arms free, to fight and escape, but his arms and legs were glued to the table by the men causing his distress. He tossed and turned and convulsed and screamed, nothing stopped, and not a sound was heard.

At one point Tony got so desperate that he screamed and begged for Yinsen to help him, to stop the men. He never received an answer; betrayal shot through his clouded mind, and anger, at the men and at Raza and at Yinsen. Screams of agony mixed with screams of rage and desperation. There was no escape.

Hands were gripping Tony's shoulders now, these ones stronger than the rest. He tried to wriggle free, to fight against the iron grip but it was fruitless; his body was weak and aching and no match for those hands. The hands squeezed Tony's shoulders, not painfully, but eagerly, desperately; begging for his attention. The encompassing pain had ceased, but the hands tightened. Tony figured it was Raza seeking answers again; he fought harder against the hold, against the strong unrelenting arms. Still they held fast, but they never caused pain, they just held him in place. They started shaking Tony lightly, desperately wanting whatever they thought he had. Well he didn't have anything; he wished desperately that everyone would leave him alone.

_". . .ark!"_

An echo floated around the air for a moment, causing Tony to briefly stop in his struggles and question if it was real. Where did it come from? Who was it? What did it mean? Did he really hear it or did he imagine it? He couldn't even really tell what it said, it was muffled and far away. Perhaps it was just his imagination.

The arms shook Tony's shoulders again, forcing his attention back on the immediate threat. Tony tried pushing the arms away, tried prying the fingers from his shoulders and freeing himself. The hands pushed his own away though and held strong.

_"Tony!"_

Okay, Tony definitely heard it that time. It was still so far away, but more welcoming than Tony's current predicament. It gave him hope that maybe someone was coming to rescue him. He tried fighting harder against the arms holding him to try to make it to that voice. That voice sounded safer than where he was, he had to reach it, to get out of this hell. But the more he fought the stronger the arms became, trying to hold him down and detain him. He felt suffocated and panicked, lashing out at anything he could reach. He thrashed and flailed, not caring where his arms went, just as long as they helped him out of here.

"Tony, stop!"

He knew that voice. Why couldn't he place it? It was a very familiar, and friendly voice. There was no threat in the words, only panic and concern. Who was that voice?

"It's me Tony! It's okay!"

Tony frowned, trying to place the voice. It was a friend, right? Or was it a foe? Then why would they say it was okay? If they intended harm they wouldn't try to console him, would they?

"Wake up, Tony. Open your eyes."

That command confused Tony. Wasn't he already awake? And being tortured by Raza and his men at that? Tony shook his head and blinked in shock and confusion. His eyes were open, how could he be sleeping? The worry in the voice was compelling though, he decided to try to do what it asked. Tony took a breath and closed his eyes, squeezed them and focused on "waking up". He opened them very slowly, the darkness gradually morphing and changing, taking shape.

A room lay in front of Tony, not the cave he had previously been in. The hard cold under him wasn't the metal table, but a cement floor. The arms that held him weren't restraining him, but coddling him? One arm was slipped under Tony's head, elevating it in its crook; the other hand pressed against Tony's chest lightly, the warmth of it seeping into his chilled bones. It was. . .soothing. The hands loosened their intense grip then, and merely held Tony gently, comforting his frazzled body with their contact.

Tony finally looked up at who it was that held him in such a tender way. Only then did he finally notice the worry-creasing forehead, the panicky breathing, and the deep blue eyes full of concern.

"Rogers?" Tony croaked drowsily as he frowned.

Steve seemed to completely deflate with relief at the sound. A heavy sigh released his tense shoulders and his head dipped tiredly. "Oh, thank god." Steve breathed.

"What?" Tony asked, confusion flooding his whole being at that point. He was on his lab floor, in Steve's lap. . .confusing indeed.

"You had me worried." Steve said breathlessly. "I walked passed the door to find you laying on the ground thrashing about like you were being attacked. You started hyperventilating and kicking out around you. I thought you'd knock the tables onto yourself. I tried to wake you and keep you from hurting yourself,". He sub-consciously rubbed at his cheek. "But you turned on me." He mumbled. "Anyway, you're awake now. Are you alright?"

Tony merely stared at the man for a moment, processing everything he'd just been told. So it was a dream; that made sense. A nightmare. That was normal nowadays. Tony finally allowed himself to relax on the ground. His body went heavy with exhaustion and his ragged breathing slowed with his erratic heartbeat.

Steve's worried face softened the slightest. "You okay?" He asked softer this time. His hands started rubbing Tony's shoulders gently, reassuring and alleviating.

Tony let out a long, shuddering sigh. He closed his eyes to recompose himself, then nodded. "Yeah." He grunted out. He had to get out of here, up to his room, away from the judging eyes of Captain America. He attempted to push himself off the floor but his limbs were weak and exhausted, and he fell right back down.

Steve caught him quickly before he hit his head on the ground. "Whoa, take it easy. You wore your body to its limits with your all-nighters, you need to take it slow." There was disapproval in his tone.

Tony huffed slowly in defeat, allowing Steve to cradle his head. There was no saving his dignity now. "I suppose you're having a field day with this one; the cocky and pompous Tony Stark is scared of nightmares and can't even get off the floor." He said bitterly.

Steve frowned down at him. "A good captain doesn't celebrate when a soldier is down." He practically recited with that same 'Steve Rogers conviction' tone he always seemed to speak in.

"I'm not a soldier." Tony mumbled miserably, staring at the wall across from him shamefully.

Steve sighed sympathetically. "No, s'pose you're not." He said softly.

Tony huffed lightly in annoyance. "I hate this. I hate that these stupid figments of my imagination have so much control over my life. You know the very sight of a _rock_ makes me flinch? What kind of man flinches at a _rock_?"

"The kind that was tortured in surrounding walls made of them?" Steve offered lightly, a small smirk twitching the corners of his mouth.

Tony looked up at Steve then, a new appreciation surging through him. Iron Man and Captain America had budded heads since they first met; they may have learned to tolerate each other more over the months, but they never missed an opportunity to bust each others' chops and criticize the way they did things. And here Steve was, sympathizing and even justifying Tony's weakness of a traumatizing past? The man never ceased to surprise Tony, that was for sure.

"You can't control these like everything else, you know." Steve said softly. "Trauma isn't something that just goes away if you ignore it, or refuse to acknowledge it. It needs to heal over time. You can't just brush it off as a flesh wound and get on with your life."

Tony sighed, taking in everything Steve was saying. He nodded slightly in appreciation for the Captain's wise words. "How do you know so much about it?" He asked curiously, a small smirk on his face.

Steve returned the smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just say I know a little bit about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." He said with the slightest bitterness in his tone.

Tony's smile fell with the realization that, Steve _did_ know; quite a bit actually. Tony had read his file thoroughly countless times growing up, trying to get to know the man his father had idolized. Tony knew those files front to back by heart; all the tragedy and heartache that the Captain had endured in his life. And that was just what was recorded; Tony didn't know much about his past before the serum; it could've been good, or it could've been just as tragic. By that ghost of sorrow well-hidden in Steve's eyes, Tony guessed it was the latter.

Tony sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Does it ever get better?" He asked softly. "You had more time than anyone; did it help you?"

This time it was Steve's turn to sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "To be honest, I didn't really have any time at all. It may have been plenty for the world, but not for me."

"What _was_ it like for you? Waking up, I mean." Tony asked.

Steve frowned in thought. "Like, I fell asleep for a few days, woke up and, everyone I know is gone."

That sorrow was back, shining in those haunted blue eyes so nakedly for the first time, since Tony had known him. Steve had never shown weakness or vulnerability before; he was always the big strong leader that the team and the world could lean on. But _he_ had no one to lean on; he just stayed to himself, suffered in silence. He bore his troubles and traumas stoically all on his own. Tony could relate, but he always had Pepper and Rhodey to drag the truth out of him. He was never truly alone. Steve. . .he had no one. No one to force him to open up and let it all out; no one to insist their constant presence no matter how 'unwanted' it was. No one to grab him and squeeze him until he finally broke, and then slowly clean the pieces of him and put them back together.

Tony couldn't help the sudden sympathy and admiration he felt for the man with the realization. "How do you do it?" He asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Steve questioned.

"Keep going." Tony clarified as he carefully sat up—with Steve's help of course—and leaned against the same table with Steve. "After everything; everything you've lost, everything you've been through, you just keep fighting. You never fall under all that weight. It can't be easy."

Steve blew a long breath out at the enormity of the question. "No, far from easy, that's for sure." He breathed out. Then he shrugged. "I honestly don't know. There are days that are harder than others; where I just want it all to stop and go back to how it used to be. But I could never just give up; if people thought that way the world would be in greater chaos than it already is. My Mama taught me better than that. She taught me to always stand up and stay strong for what you believe in."

"Well,". Tony sighed. "You certainly make her proud." He mumbled in his 'Tony Stark condescension' tone that he was known for, but the coupling sarcasm was lacking; Tony meant what he said, he just didn't want to be seen complimenting the Captain. That didn't fit his reputation after all.

Steve saw through it though, a small smirk tugging at his lips in appreciation. Then he leaned back against the table with a sigh, staring at the ceiling.

Tony glanced sympathetically at the soldier, then mimicked his sigh and followed his gaze. They stayed in content silence for a while, each lost in their own troubled minds.

"Thanks, by the way,". Tony finally said, his voice soft. "For coming in here. . .waking me up." He looked up at Steve with rare, sincere eyes. Tony appreciated the man's concern more than he'd like to admit.

Steve shrugged modestly. "I did what needed to be done." He looked down at Tony leaning against the table next to him, a light smirk on his face. "No one gets left behind; soldier or not."

That brought a small smile to Tony's face. Seeing the big and strong and always business Captain America crack a little joke was heartwarming to say the least. The playful spark in the soldier's eyes—however small it was—was a refreshing change from the darkness hidden deep in those irises.

Tony lightly patted Steve's arm to reprimand him for the comment; playful banter between colleagues. Tony would never admit it in a million years, but he was thankful for Steve's friendship, for the camaraderie of his whole team. Friends; it was nice to have, after all those years of disdain and judgment.

Steve nudged Tony back, a small chuckle erupting from him and echoing through the empty lab. He missed these kinds of interactions; carefree and light banter between two people. He used to be surrounded by this kind of companionship back in the war; where every soldier knew each other and cared for each other and protected each other, kept them safe and lightened their hearts with friendly jests. To have a friend again.

Deep in the late hours of the night, Tony couldn't stop the yawn from splitting his mouth and displaying his fatigue. His eyes were getting droopy again, his body sagging more into the table behind him.

"Alright mister,". Steve chuckled softly. "Let's get you up to bed."

"Aaaaw, do I have to?" Tony whined through another yawn, using the back of his hand to muffle the sound, then stretching long above him. He looked up to one of the clocks displayed around his lab. "It's only four in the morning." He mumbled tiredly.

"Bed. Now." Steve commanded gently as he stood, carefully pulling Tony up with him, then slinging his arm around his shoulders while his other went around Tony's waist to hold him upright.

Tony 'harrumphed' with a pout. "You're no fun."

"So I'm told." Steve countered with a smirk as he manoeuvred Tony around the lab tables and towards the stairs.

"You know I've stayed up way longer before you came along." Tony whined half-heartedly as he allowed Steve to practically drag him up the stairs, as his feet seemed to have already gone to sleep before him.

"I doubt it." Steve said as they made the top of the stairs and turned towards the bedrooms. "Pepper would never allow it." He smirked in Tony's direction.

"Yeah, well. . ." Tony trailed off, no comeback coming to mind. He knew Steve was right. "You're still no fun." He grumbled in defeat. "You and Pepper both."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you." Steve offered. They reached Tony's room and Steve nudged the door open with his elbow, keeping a good hold on Tony's arm and around his waist.

"You should be." Tony continued, merely going through the motions now in the conversation as his head hung low. "You guys should really learn to loosen up once in a while; live a little."

Steve sat Tony down on the bed and slowly guided his head to the pillow. "I'll keep that in mind." He humored. He pulled the covers down and lifted Tony's legs under them, pulling them up to his shoulders.

"We should have a party." Tony said, attempting to stifle another yawn and failing. "Get you two to really live it up; maybe it'll dislodge those sticks from up your asses and let you relax for once." He mumbled groggily.

Steve startled slightly at the lack of filter on Tony's exhaustion-ridden complaining. Still he shook his head with a chuckle as he tucked the blankets around Tony's legs. "Maybe it will." He said softly. He laid a hand on Tony's shoulder then. "Get some sleep." He said gently.

"You too." Tony said softly, the exhausted glaze in his eyes clearing momentarily to reveal a small concern and sincerity.

Steve smiled and nodded, patting Tony's shoulder. Then he turned and headed for the door.

"Hey." Tony called back groggily.

Steve turned in the doorway, staring at the lump on the bed.

"Thanks." Tony barely whispered.

Steve smiled lightly. "Sweet dreams, Stark." He mumbled playfully.

Tony smirked tiredly, his eyes on the Captain in the doorway as they drooped lower and lower, until finally they closed him off to the waking world.

Steve stayed a moment longer until he heard Tony's soft snores, then he closed the door quietly and headed to his own bed, content that his teammate was finally getting his much needed rest. And soon he would be too, knowing that his team, his friends, were all happy and safe, relieving his mind and allowing him to finally rest.

* * *

**Author's note: So there you have it. The last chapter. Hope it wasn't too cheesy or anything like that. Again, I intended no romance, but if that's your thing then far be it for me to judge. Hope you enjoyed my first little Avengers story. :)**


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